“But that would not be true.” Nadia regarded him with absolute horror. “Come what may, I must be true.” “It’s rather presumptuous of me to quote texts to you,” said Caerleon, “but isn’t there something about ‘speaking the truth in love’?” “Why should it be presumptuous of you to quote texts to me?” she asked, quickly. “Well, you see,” he answered, with some hesitation, “I don’t live by rule, as you do. I haven’t a system of self-discipline, or anything of that sort.” “You think I am proud--conceited?” she said. “You think I set myself up upon a pedestal? Ah no, Lord Caerleon, I entreat you, do not think that. God knows how very weak and feeble I am, how continually I discover in myself that horrible temptation to insincerity. Since I have known you, it has beset me even more than before. Because I know that you are listening, I am perpetually tempted to let things pass, to join for politeness’ sake in conversation that I know is wrong. You cannot tell what it costs me to speak out, and you try to make it harder for me.” “Indeed I don’t wish to do that,” said Caerleon, touched by the illogical reproach of her last sentence. “I only want to ask you whether you couldn’t make your protests mentally, and not aloud. I never like to hear a girl speak to her mother as you do. Can’t you make some allowance for her? She must have had a hard life--and bad training, perhaps. There may be more excuse for her than we think.” “I wish I knew it, then!” cried Nadia. “You have not seen as much of her as I have; you cannot know her as I do. She delights in intrigue for its own sake. It gives her an artistic pleasure to do a thing in a roundabout way instead of straight. Do you not see that it is far worse for me to realise this than it can be for you? You cannot tell what torture it was for me to find out, when I first came here from home--from my godmother’s--that my mother would never tell the truth if a falsehood were possible. I felt that I must stand against her influence, or I might grow like her.” “I don’t fancy you would,” said Caerleon; “but of course, as you say, you are a better judge of your own circumstances than I am. I suppose you feel the same with reference to your brother. It seems as though you had scarcely a civil word for him.” “He has not many for me,” said Nadia, drily. “No, I do not like Louis. He is not good.” “Not like him!” cried Caerleon. “But he is your brother.” “I hope I love him,” said Nadia, meditatively. “I should not like anything bad to happen to him. To do him good--to save his soul--I would die, oh, how willingly! But I cannot like him.” “But wouldn’t you be better able to do him good if you did like him?” asked Caerleon. Nadia considered for a moment. “I can’t help it. One cannot like a person who one knows is not good. You yourself, if Milord Cyril were to become false, to break his faith, you could not like him any longer.”